Soldier's Vengeance
by Axemili
Summary: On the trail of a demented vampire with the power of two nuclear warheads, Xander Harris arrives back in a place of bad memories and abandoned friends...the place of his former life.
1. Default Chapter

It seemed like a missile, speeding towards him. The bullet of death, zeroing in on him. But the bony fist seemed so much more painful to Alexander Harris. The knuckle smashed deep into his face, skimming against his nose as it made impact just to the right. Stars rang out bright and clear in his vision as he stumbled back, fighting the spots of darkness that threatened to overtake his vision. With a quiet, vehement curse, he steadied himself against the dirty, unkempt wall of the small Hong Kong alley.

"Latent One, Latent and Active Team almost in position. Keep him busy for another few minutes." Rang the tinny voice in Xander's ear. 

Through a small, blood-caked grin, the dark-haired man pushed himself from the wall. He saw the shoulder moving even before the next barrage of fists came towards him. That bony fist again flew at him, this time smashing against thin air as Harris swiftly ducked beneath, lunging forward, his own arm coming about in a vicious right-hook. Pain exploded against his chin as the elbow of his adversary sent him stumbling back once more.

"Sure thing," Muttered Xander painfully, rubbing his jaw. "I'll try to hold back from kickin' his ass."

His hazel eyes glared at the bald, skull-like face, grinning maliciously back at him. 

"Screw you." Taunted Harris, back-pedaling. His fingers brushed against the grips of his custom Smith & Wesson 1003. He grinned inwardly as he imagined unlimbering the pistol, peering down the 2-dot sights, his favourite pistol bucking in his hands as he sent a double-tap of .40 S&W bullets speeding towards his enemy. 

Silently cursing his inept ability to follow orders, Harris quickly shot his arm from the pistol, parrying yet another overhead right aimed to his nose.

Being quite proficient in CQB-Close Quarters Battle-Xander Harris had seemed the ideal choice to draw out the bodyguard of wealthy merchant, specializing in illegal arms. The plan was to keep the bodyguard occupied as Latent and Active Teams quietly infiltrated the merchant's rich penthouse, securing the dealer alive. The bodyguard had to remain alive…and distracted from the raid for the sole purpose that…they didn't know which was the guard and which was the merchant. Capture one successfully, the other would most likely stick a gun to his head and blow himself to hell. Xander, however, hadn't planned on being used as a human punching bag in a dirty Hong Kong alley.

Another fist rocked his head back, blood and spit flying through the air. Grunting, Xander pivoted about as yet another fist targeted his collarbone. The fist brushed harmlessly pass, and smirking, Harris straight-armed his opponent, sighing as he felt the cartilage of a nose crushing beneath the force exerted.

A yelp of pain sprang from the man's lips, escalating into a hi-pitched scream as Harris stepped forward, swinging his adidas combat-boots right between his opponent's legs.

The scream quickly morphed into a furious snarl of rage as the bald criminal lurched forward, one hand clutching the gonads, the other angling for Harris's neck.

Caught off-guard by his opponent's apparent balls of steel, Xander back-pedaled, his back thudding quietly against a wall…the end of the alley.

A snarl etched over his own face, Xander ducked, smashing his fist deep against his adversary's abdomen. A grunt ballooned from his mouth, as the skull-faced guard stumbled back, one hand clutching his stomach, the other wedged tight between his legs.

Growling, the man painfully extended from his position, a glinting Sig-Sauer P232 in his hands. 

"Shit." Muttered Xander, staring at the gun. The maw of the barrel, spitting a relatively small .32 ACP round, seemed like the mouth of a howitzer to Harris. His hand made the futile dart towards the Smith & Wesson tucked to the small of his back, diving to the side in the same instant. 

The small P232 fired, the bullet skimming against his armpit. It felt as if a scalding hot whip had just been slashed across his body. The echo of the pistol seemed just as loud…even louder. As Xander crashed a pile of garbage, he watched as the Hong Kong man's leg crumpled before him, a shout of agony escaping his lips. A frown furrowed the injured man's brow. It hadn't been an echo.

Wincing, his eyes swept across the alley, finally resting on the outline of a mysterious stranger. Slowly, smoke trailing from the barrel, the figure stepped out into the light. 

Sighing, Xander tilted his head back, relaxing in the smelly bed. The figure remained silent. Harris looked back up. The Kimber Compact Carry .45 caliber now hung limply at his fingers. Oriental features stared back, bemused at his fellow agent, lying in a pile of garbage.

"Need help?" Came the words in flawless, unaccented English.

Snorting, Xander, leaned back again. "Only for you guys would I hold back on such an unworthy opponent." 

"I'll take that as a no." And with that, the Chinese agent spun on his heels, strolling out of the alley.

"Hey!" Called out Xander, his head shooting back up as he stared at the retreating figure. "I didn't say I didn't need help. I despise lying in this pile of shit. Help me up!"

The middle-fingered salute was tossed his way as the agent vanished from sight. Grumbling profanities, Harris crawled from the garbage. "Screw you too."

  
  
  
  


Wincing at the assault of scalding hot water, Xander gingerly patted the bandage encasing the wound. It ached…badly. Every little movement caused hot needles of pain to lance through his body. A few pills of painkillers had taken care of that…temporarily. The doctor had recommended a month off at the very least, his commanding officer had recommended a month off at the very least, half his team mates had recommended a month off at the very least. What they were forgetting was that Xander Harris had clomped through this shithole of a mission. He'd lost four friends, had had seven civilian casualties attributed to him, and there was no way he would back out at this stage of the game.

Pointedly ignoring the ache at his side, Harris eased off the hot water until it was ice cold. His heartbeat beat faster, his breath became more constant, his body became more alert…just the way he liked it. Finally, he stepped from the shower, towelling his body dry. His hazel eyes drifted to the two guns lying on the sink next to the shower. The Smith & Wesson 1003 lay on its side, the stainless steel glinting in the artificial light. His face turned into a frown, his movements stopped at the sight of the other. It was a small snubnose .38 caliber…it had been Anya's.

Shivering, Harris swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat. 

_'Don't think about her, man. Don't Fucking think about her.'_ Urged Xander silently to himself. Breathing in deep breaths, Harris weakly dumped the towel onto the ground, leaning against the clean white wall for support. Guilt suddenly flooded his system as he realized that he hadn't thought about her for a week…since this damn mission had started.

Forcing his breathing back within the normal range, Harris sat down upon the toilet, his fingers running through the long, dark hair that he had kept throughout the years. A lone tear ran down his face as he fought against the onslaught of horrible memories. Of the sight of her that beautiful face, smile sweetly…her eyes turning into a yellow tint, her chin jutting out, ridges forming along her forehead, fangs sprouting from those white teeth.

Shaking, his fingers ran themselves against the cool steel of the revolver.

_'Don't…don't think. Forget…'_

His train of thoughts were broken by the incessant rapping on the door.

"Xander, the cap'n wants a briefing in 15."

Surprise, Harris moved his lips, matching the appropriate words. Frowning, he suddenly realized that speaking also required vibrations in his voicebox.

"Yeah, right. I'll be done in a sec." 

  
  
  
  


In the spacious conference room sat fourteen men and five women. The men and women of Shattered Dusk. Within the North America, Shattered Dusk acted as somewhat of a mercenary group, operating within the boundaries of the United States and Canadian Military. In layman's terms, they were an unknown entity of 19 soldiers and 10 support personnel, the mission parameters providing everything from the destruction of a vampire nest in South Africa to the assassination of a senator in Berlin. 

Shattered Dusk comprised of the best, taken from everything from NEST to the DEA, from the Canadian JTF-2, to the LAPD. They had pilots who had gone through Hell Day on Coronado Island, Cops who had the proper rating to fly F-14's, and computer specialists who could kill with their bare-hands. 

Shattered Dusk comprised of three assault teams, each with six soldiers-Active, Latent, and Shadow. At the head of it all was the man who had formed his organization…Jason Fornier, a cynical ex-Colonel who had served in Vietnam and the Gulf War as a United States Marine. 

For the past week, seven gruelling days of murder and mayhem, Shattered Dusk had been on the search two nuclear weapons each fifty megatons powerful. Sources first indicated an eco-terrorist group that had raided a military base in the Arctic. The discovery of a room of death…the thirty-one members of that organization slaughtered in a room had led SD to Marcus Jennings, a neo-Nazi who had experienced it all…including World War Two as a defector. It just so happened that Mr. Jennings was also of the vampire breed. 

His hazel eyes scanning the room, Harris found who he was looking for. Kalman Ling sat alone, his eyes taking in this day's newspaper. Beneath the short-cropped black hair and the sideburns running down the side of his face stood a handsome Asian face, the piercing blue eyes the only evidence of an Irishman somewhere along his bloodline. The Kimber Compact Carry sat snug against his waist as he uncomfortably scratched his rear-end. 

Stonily, Harris made his way towards his friend. His eyes caught the 'Globe and Mail', Canada's newspaper. Ling had been born and bred in Canada, two years in the air force and three years in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police had given the soldier the ample experience for Shattered Dusk. 

"They get info from that bald bastard already?" Asked Harris, slipping into the chair next to Ling's. 

"Apparently so." Answered Kalman's deep voice, his eyes never leaving the newspaper. 

"Know anything about it?" 

"Nope." 

The idle chit-chat slowed to nothingness as Fornier stood from his seat, clearing his voice loudly. 

"All right," Rang out Fornier's baritone voice, booming throughout the room. "First off, a tip-top job on tonight's grab. With the exception of Harris's damaged face, we had no casualties." 

Laughter rang from the eighteen soldiers as Harris swung to his feet, allowing a small bow. 

"Second…" Continued Fornier, politely forcing the laughter to die down. "Second, we managed to extract information from our captives. It seems that we have three targets. The biggest is in Puerto Rico, where Jennings is supposedly holing up. Shadow Team and myself will be setting up a temporary base of operations there. The second is in the Swiss Alps, where we have a possible storage sight for our two nukes. Active Team and Gaulle, Morris, Dimono, and Rykov from Latent will be going there…" Hesitating, Fornier's gaze then swept carefully towards Harris. "The third is in Sunnydale, California, where Jennings seems to be building up an army. Harris, I believe that you've had past…experiences with the town?" 

Eyes open in shock, Harris merely nodded. 

"Alright, Ling will be your back-up." 

The briefing rambled on, Xander only half listening. 

_'Sunnydale…oh god. Sunnydale. Buffy, Dawn, Willow…everyone. Every-fucking-one.' _

"Hit…Jennings…bastard…" 

_'…Anya.'_

Moisture began welling up in Xander Harris's eyes as he angled his face downwards. He was going back. To the place of nightmares and bad memories. He was going back to Sunnydale.


	2. 2

The warehouse loomed up ahead, giving out an eerie aura of evil. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Xander Harris hefted the highly-illegal Ithaca Mag-3 10-guage shotgun. It wasn't the gun itself that was illegal, but the fact that the barrel had been sawed down 20-inches and that it had been expanded to carry seven 10-guage shells. It now held double-aught buckshot, the most powerful shell, and it would blow the head of a vampire clean off its shoulders. 

The interior of the Honda Civic was surprisingly spacious, the windows rolled down to provide the cool night air access into the grimy white car. Harris currently occupied the shotgun seat, or the front passenger seat. The powerful shotgun lay in his lap, his concentration now occupied on the Smith & Wesson. It was a pointless action. He had checked and re-checked three times before having Kalman Ling pull to a stop before the warehouse. It did, however, help to reduce the tension. 

Sighing, he glanced over at his Chinese partner. 

"So…tell me again, how do we kill a vampire?" Asked Ling nervously, his fingers expertly racking a round into the chamber of the Heckler & Koch UMP .45 caliber sub-machine gun. 

Sighing, Harris again glanced over at the warehouse. 

"Stick a wooden stake through its heart, set it on fire, or blow its friggin' head off." 

Ling glanced down at the UMP, quietly praying that the hollowpoints would be able to do the job. 

"So…it's, like, not that hard, right?" 

"Jesus," Muttered Harris, spinning around to face his partner. "You're telling me that you've had a Tilod demon bite you in the ass and that you've kicked a Polgara demon in its green, slimy balls…but you've never encountered a freaking vampire?" 

"You just figured that part out?" Muttered Ling, turning away, sarcasm dripping from every word. 

Silence again reined in the car as stuffed a pile of wooden stakes inside the pocket of his worn-out leather jacket, patting the ceramic tiles woven throughout the coat. 

Xander gazed longingly forward…to his hometown. To Sunnydale. 

It had been two days since the briefing in Hong Kong, and here they were. Intel had suggested that the warehouse contained a small nest of vampires, one of the more minor 'Vampire Resource Centres' that Marcus Jennings had put into use. They weren't big, and finishing these off would put a mere dent in Jennings' organization, but it would provide the locations of other weak spots where more substantial dents could be made 

His eyes stared at the horizon. The sun was setting…it was beautiful. Even the mere sight of Sunnydale brought him back to a whirlwind of emotional pain. So much had happened here. The four years he had been gone seemed like ten lifetimes to him. It had been a young, heartbroken Xander who had left and it was a battle-hardened warrior who had returned. Guilt coursed through him…what would Buffy think? Or Willow, his absolute bestest friend in the world? What of Giles, the man he had grown to love as his own father, or Dawn, who had looked up to him? Hell, even Spike… 

Covering up his pain with a smile, Xander popped open the glove compartment, his fingers closing around the elegant silver flask. He'd bought it in Saigon during his stay there as a member of the elite Navy SEALs. It reminded him of the cynical, bleach-haired vampire…and of home. 

Staring at it, Xander finally brought it to his lips, tilting his head back, savouring the bitter liquid that rushed down his throat. 

"You know," Broke Kalman's voice through Harris's moment of bliss. "It's against protocol." 

A pained grin on his face, Xander waved his fist before his friend, the middle finger extended. 

"Don't even try it. I ain't givin' you a swig." 

Just then, both timers on both watches beeped. The two soldiers glanced quickly to their cheap Timex watches. All humour gone from their faces, they looked stonily at each other before kicking open the doors. 

The thud of two pairs of combat-booted feet echoing against the night seemed impossibly loud to Xander, but he knew that it was just his raised perception. Deeping in slowly…calming himself as he had been taught by his boxing coach during that all-so-brief boxing career, Xander waited for his friend to catch up. The ache in his side had fallen to a dull thud, thanks to the ultra-strong painkillers. But now, fully pumped up, he could barely feel the pain. 

Their weapons cradled loosely in their arms, the two soldiers spread out, walking briskly towards the warehouse. 

"Showtime." Muttered Xander, bracing the shotgun against his hip. "Hope the other actors can survive…or not." 

The two had agreed to avoid the main door, seeing that it was reinforced alloy. Yet the two side doors were of lighter steel…easier to open once they shot the locks open. 

A small staircase stood before him, leading to the side door. His boots clomped quietly against the steel steps. His heart beating like a hammer against his ribs, Xander angled the powerful shotgun at the knob of the door. His fingers rose to check the cotton wads inserted in his ears before he braced the shotgun. Finally, he jerked back on the trigger. The Ithaca had one hell of a recoil, but forcefully, he managed to control it. As he roughly kicked the door open, he heard the tell-tale staccato burst of Ling's UMP. 

The two soldiers entered at the same moment, their minds now functioning like a computer. 'Combat data' streamed through at an amazing rate. 

There were a dozen vampires, all of them frozen in shock. Five stood in a clump, playing a game of cards. A vampire stood off to the side, a mere four meters from Xander, smoking a big cigar. Right next to Kalman stood two vampires in the middle of a heated discussion. The other four stood on a catwalk…feeding. 

Fury seeped through Xander at the sight of the diabolical beasts on the catwalk, but first things first. Spinning gracefully on the balls of his feet, Harris angled the shotgun at the surprised vampire. The cigar began its descent to the ground as the vampire morphed into its game face, lunging wildly at the soldier the same instant. The shotgun bucked wildly in his arms, the double-aught totally taking off its head. Gore flew everywhere before it turned into a pile of dust. 

On the other side of the warehouse, Ling twisted his upper body about, the UMP held at eye-level. The sub-gun stuttered as a torrent of 230-grain bullets ripped through the two vampires before they knew what hit them. Two headless bodies lurched to the side, blood, skull fragments, and brain matter splashing across the concrete surface. 

By then, the remaining nine vampires had recovered from the shock. Loud growls ripping from their mouths, three vampires lunged from their flimsy seats. Coolly, Kalman hosed a narrow figure-8, watching as the hollowpoints took the heads of a double pair of bloodsuckers. The third vampire rushed Ling at a superhuman speed. Most men would have been unnerved by such a display of physical tenacity. He wasn't most men. 

The vampire was within arm's reach by now, and Ling knew it was impossible to get off another burst. The UMP dropped to a stop, swinging by its sling. The vampire had the advantage of superior strength and speed. He did not, however, know had to properly incorporate those aspects. 

A fist shot forward as Ling twisted down, snaring the wrist as he began a judo hip throw. At the last moment, however, Kalman brought his elbow back viciously into the bridge of the vampire's nose. As the bloodsucker stumbled back, the soldier viciously stomped down upon the bloodsucker's kneecap, smiling mirthlessly as a scream of pain erupted from its mouth. The vampire stumbled, then collapsed into its side, writhing in pain. 

As Ling's chatterbox spoke, Xander angled the shotgun down, low to the ground. Two vampires rushed him, the ones on the catwalk swiftly clambering down the stairs. The Ithaca roared, sending a slug towards the ground. It smashed into the floor before the lead vampire, causing him to stumble. No matter…that had been the plan. Riding out the recoil, Harris's next shot took the vampire in the abdomen, blowing open a huge hole. Intestines spilled from the wound, blood seeping through. The vampire, screaming, stumbled to the ground, but before he could suffer the pain any longer, Xander's third shot took him in the head, dusting him. That third shot smashed into the arm of the second vampire, the impact sending him spinning even as his arm was torn from place. The fourth shot finished that vampire, too. 

'Two more shells.' Recited Xander silently as he observed the remaining four vampires, clambering down the steps. 

Ling's UMP chattered but quickly died out, the hammer hitting nothing. An arrogant grin appeared on the lead vampire's face as he leapt forward, vaulting the steps. In mid-air, a blast from Xander caught him in the neck, instantly dusting him. 

Kalman let the UMP drop, not bothering to fish for extra clips. Instead, his hand found the Kimber, his draw blindingly fast. 

Xander's Ithaca spoke its last shell, this one grazing by its intended target, smashing into the railing. 

"Shit." Muttered the soldier quietly as he let his own gun drop, going for his sidearm. 

Ling's Kimber blasted twice, both bullets finding the shoulder of one vampire. He collapsed, spinning around, causing his friend to trip over him, crashing noisily to the ground. Sneering, Kalman took careful aim, easing back on the trigger. This time, the .45 caliber bullet found its mark. A hand suddenly snaked around Ling's ankle, pulling him back. Stumbling, he found his balance, whipping his head down to see the vampire he had crippled. 

"Fuck you!" Spat the vampire as he smashed a fist into the Chinese soldier's leg. 

Grunting, Kalman fell to the ground, the Kimber clattering against the floor. 

The remaining two vampires rushed the downed soldier, .40 S&W bullets filling the air behind them. Xander's muscled legs propelled him along at a fast speed, the Smith & Wesson bucking as it spat bullet after bullet. One whipped into a vampire's butt, the humiliation quickly ending another two found his head. Cursing as he saw the final vampire nearing his friend, Xander skidded to a halt, getting into a solid weaver stance. With only one more bullet left in the chamber, Harris took careful aim, compensating for the high rate of movement. The Smith & Wesson bucked once more as the vampire disintegrated in a pile of dust. 

Yet, down on the floor, Ling was having problems. His adversary seemed to have an insatiable thirst for vengeance…for maybe just for killing. A fist smashed into Kalman, sending him sliding back. Fingers curled around a metal pole as the vampire gained possession of the Kimber. Cursing, Ling whipped the pole about, wincing in horror as the pistol gave under the force of the attack, obviously breaking. Another curse left his mouth as Kalman viciously threw the pole at his opponent, glaring even as the vampire slumped to the ground, unconscious, the pole, clattering against the floor. 

Silence only sat in the atmosphere of the warehouse as both men leaned back wearily, the adrenaline wearing off. Ling's hands found his back-up sidearm, a Smith & Wesson 4053-a smaller version of Xander's favoured pistol-as he crawled from the ground, leaning heavily against the railing. Breathing heavily, Xander himself replaced the spent clip, racking back the slide. 

Footsteps, though obviously concealed, reached the ears of both men. Cautiously, the two glanced at one another. It wasn't the cops…they'd make an announcement of their presence. Silently, adrenaline again on overdrive, both men crept to the door, pistols at the ready. The front door suddenly burst open, a figure silhouetted against the moonlight. 

Harris's tanned suddenly grew pale, his eyes widening as he recognized the figure. 

"Stop!" Screamed the warrior towards his friend, watching as the trigger finger paused, a mere millimetre away from sending that figure to her death. 

The silence was broken only by the heavy breathing of Xander as he looked to the equally shocked face of the newcomer. 

"Did I miss something?" Asked Ling quietly, the pistol still trained on the figure. 

Still, Xander ignored him. 

"X…Xander?" came the weak, surprised voice, obviously taken aback by the dark-haired soldier. 

A slight grin broke over his craggy features as he lowered his pistol. "Buffy." Responded Harris quietly.


	3. 3

The Lexus Luxury sedan sat beneath the shadows of the alley, its dark grey colour perfectly blending in perfectly. Two men sat stock still in the car, their stony eyes hidden by wrap-around shades. Both could have been brothers, their shaved heads glinting menacingly in the moonlight seeping through the windows. Both sported lean, wiry bodies, veins showing clearly on their thick necks. Cauliflower ears betrayed a past of wrestling.

The first reached into the pocket of the custom-tailored savile row suit, made to hide the bulge of the Sig-Sauer P229 pistol riding in a light plastic shoulder-holster. He instead palmed the small Telus phone.

The second, the one in the shotgun seat, reached to the back, his fingers closing around the big duffel bag. Zipping it open, he brought out a matching pair of Israeli Galil assault rifles. Calmly, he slid in a 50-round box into each rifle, handing one over to his partner who was now speaking in rapid, yet accented German.

Finally, the conversation with the small cellphone, and the first merely nodded silently to the second.

Nodding back, the two eased open their doors, stepping carefully onto the rough pavement. Their eyes flickered towards their target as they strolled side by side, the rifles held out before them.

They turned the corner…and entered the Magic Box.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The Honda Civic sped along the Sunnydale roads under the midnight moon. Warily, Ling glanced backwards to what he thought was a psycho-bitch Amazon woman who had a nice ass.

She seemed to be glaring at Xander, who was painfully rubbing his jaw…the spot where she had delivered the quick, vicious jab right after encasing him in a vise-like bear hug.

The silence seemed somewhat deadly in this tense standoff with the buxom blonde and the suave soldier. Before Kalman could break it, Buffy did the deed.

"So, Xand, where've you been?" Came the quiet, clipped question.

Xander frowned as he contemplated the question. "Did some boxing after I left. Got pretty good. Even had a 750-grand contract going on before…" He trailed off as he remembered the humiliating end of his short-lived boxing career. 

"Xander?" 

"I…uh…a scandal. They wanted me to take a fall…and they threatened me if I didn't."

"Who's 'they'?"

"The mob." Replied Xander, forcing a note of nonchalance into his voice.

The silence again hung over the car like a heavy veil, dragging everyone down.

"What about…after?"

"After? Well, that was a pretty fun time in my life," Replied Xander, a small smile lighting up his face. "I joined the Navy…heh, I served on the U.S.S Enterprise." 

The corners of the petite slayer uplifted in a smile as she remembered how much he had been obsessed with Star Trek. "What'd you do?"

"Do? Oh, I was a diver…but I met some guys. SEALs. I, uh, I worked out with them a few times…it was brutal. They showed me some stuff, then they told me I'd be a good SEAL candidate. So…I joined."

"First in your class?" Asked Buffy, subconsciously grinning.

"No," Replied Xander with a snort. "Seventeenth. I…"

His sentence was cut off as the Honda lurched to a stop before the Magic Box. A loud "Shit" left Ling's mouth as the 4053 filled his fist.

"What is it?" Snapped Buffy and Xander simultaneously.

"I think I might be seeing ghosts." Muttered the Chinese soldier, bursting out the door. Xander glanced over to the entrance. A moment later, he imitated the movement, the 4003 sliding from its holster. 

A duo of cold, bald-headed men toting assault rifles were headed for the Magic Box. Sensing movement behind, Xander roughly pushed Buffy back. "Stay here Buff…"

"Move." Snarled the slayer as she roughly pushed Xander back.

"Goddammit Buffy!" Growled Xander as he glanced urgently at the two men. "This isn't your game! You got speed, you got strength, but can you dodge bullets?! I don't freaking think so!"

"Xander, don't you dare try to stop me! My friends and my sister are in there, and I am not going to be stopped by someone who turned their back on me years ago!"

Hurt flashed through the soldier's eyes as he stared at Buffy. It stung…hard. Why couldn't they understand? Just staying here brought back memories of Anya…of killing her.

Sighing, Harris spun on his heels, staying low to the ground, keeping to the shadows as he joined Kalman. The Chinese soldier stood in a weaver stance, his dark cords and leather jacket blending in perfectly to the shadows he stood in. The pistol boomed, a 135-grain stinger ripping through the air. The bullet smashed into the nearest skinhead's ribs, sending him stumbling into his friend…yet he remained standing.

"Kevlar." Muttered Kalman, adjusting his aim towards the man's face. 

Behind him, Xander's 4003 boomed, its bullets disintegrating the man's face. A chunk of flesh blew off from the man and the first sign of emotion overcame the rifle-wielding creature. From the remaining side of his face came a contemptuous sneer as the Galil snapped up, chattering a steady stream of bullets towards the two warriors. Both ducked under cover, the bullets striking against the stone foundation. 

Frantically, praying for her safety, Xander's eyes scanned the darkness for any sign of Buffy. He found her crouched behind a heavy oak tree, bullets chewing up the bark. Her green eyes held a spark of determination…and fury. 

The burst of bullets stopped, and as if on cue, both soldiers popped up, firing. The first man charged, the Galil-empty-now clattering against the pavement. The bullets of the two men seemed to have no effect on the charging creature, blood and skin flying in the air as pieces of his body was ripped away. A disfigured hand reached beneath the jacket, unlimbering the Glock 17. 

Soon enough, both pistols ran dry. Not bothering to fish for a fresh clip, Xander let the pistol drop, bringing out the small .38 snubnose. Yet, before he could fire even a shot, a blur shot passed him, impacting with the approaching abomination. With superhuman speed, Buffy's shoulder smashed painfully into the creature's ribs, the crunch, followed by a grunt of agony, bringing a smile to both men's lips. The creature stumbled back, yet could not recover as a barrage of fists from Buffy snapped its head back…to fast, to powerful for its neck to handle. The vertebrae snapped, as the man stumbled back, his head twisted at an odd angle.

Remembering, Xander glanced frantically towards the second assassin…it was gone.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


One thing Rupert Giles prided himself on was his immaculately-kept magic shop. Frog legs piled on one neat and tidy stack, dangerous scrolls which he hoped no one could find folded properly, tucked away into the shadows of a shelf. Daggers, their blades glinting in the artificial light, on one wall, the old sawed-off World-War 2-era pump-action shotgun beneath the counter.

It was this weapon he dove for as the armed man waltzed into the shop, bracing the weapon against his hip.

"Get down!" Yelled Giles crazily as the assault rifle began stuttering, its bullets ripping across the carefully-ordered shop.

Dropping to the ground, his glasses falling from his face from his jarring landing, his fingers found the powerful shotgun.

From his 'Ripper' days, he had gotten quite proficient with small arms, his training furthered even more as a Watcher. He had come to favour the old shotgun. Whether it was because its dozen pellets could totally obliterate a man, or for its sentimental purposes, Giles would never know.

The gun roared, a the buckshots streaming towards the mystery-attacker.

Vision blurry from the loss of his glasses, his hands quickly groped about for his glasses. Finally, he found them. Slipping them on, he gasped in horror.

The man remained standing, even though it had found its mark. The pellets of the buckshot had nearly blown off the creature's head from its shoulders, yet it still stood there, blood gushing from the loss of its head.

The Galil clicked empty, and the headless assassin dropped the gun, reaching into its coat for the 9mm P229. The gun angled towards him, and scrambling onto his feet, he dove across the counter, just avoiding the 124-grain bullet that gouged at the cool surface beneath.

Back against the floor, bracing the gun with both hands, Giles racked back the slide, sending another shell into the chamber. His jaw set, the short, stubby shotgun roared its last shot, the creature's chest nearly obliterated under the onslaught.

"Bloody hell," Muttered the former Watcher as he dropped his precious weapon. "At least I slowed it down."

A vehement "Shit" came from the training room as Spike stumbled around the corner, staying low to the ground. "The bastard nearly blew my balls off." True enough, a spot of cold blood appeared a mere two inches from his crotch.

His eyes caught sight of the headless gunman, spots of his body blown away. Eyes wide in shock, Spike dove to the ground as the bullet ripped through the air where the vampire had been only moments ago.

"Oh…ya' want a piece of the Big Bad, huh?" Muttered Spike, ignoring the fiery pain right next to his crotch. 

The headless creature seemed clueless to the location of the blonde vampire.

Chuckling mirthlessly, Spike tensed, then launched himself from the ground. His fist rocketed forward almost as fast as his undead body flew through the air. It connected with a fleshy slap…or would have, if it weren't for the fiery hot pain that exploded from his head like a block of C4, lancing through his entire body. 

A scream of agony escaped the vampire's lips as he stumbled backwards, long, elegant hands clutching the crown of his head. 

The hollowpoint bullet smashed into his chest, sending the vampire into a further world of pain as he crashed into a shelf, sending jars of Tasmanian Devil eyeballs scattering across the cool surface of the Magic Box.

"Bloody hell." Muttered Spike as he rolled painfully off the wooden shelf, grunting as slivers of wood flew into the back of his neck. Swiftly, the former killer scrambled into cover behind the counter, bullets hot on his heels.

"Bastard!" Screamed Spike with a hearty laugh as he pulled the ever-present silver flask of vodka from his leather trench coat. The telltale click of a hammer striking thin air indicated the absence of bullets in the creature's pistol. With a contemptuous sneer on his face, the bleached vampire tilted his head back, savouring the bitter, burning sensation as the alcohol rushed down his throat.

"You learn to mess with the big bad!"

Glaring at the approaching killer, his fingers clumsily sliding a fresh clip up the butt of its pistol, Spike cocked his flask back, and sent a wave of vodka flying towards the creature. The transparent liquid enveloped the creature, and the smirk still present on his face, Spike slid the flask back into his coat, flipping a used cigarillo into his mouth as he ran the shiny, silver Zippo over its end.

"Told you, ya' shoddy cock-sucker, you do not mess with the big bad."

Fingers racked the slide back on the Sig-Sauer. 

Smoke gently lifting from Spike's mouth, the cigarillo then was suddenly flicked through the air, the end still glowing softly as it crashed into the alcohol-coated creature. 

The result was instant…so was the fire. The creature seemed to stiffen as scalding-hot flames enveloped its body. But still, it lumbered on, arms out-stretched in a bad impersonation of a pale, ghastly zombie. 

It was then that the door to the magic box smashed open and two men charged through, their guns blazing, bullets enveloping the enflamed creature. 

A bullet seemed to strike its crotch, and with that…the psychotic killer vanished. All remaining was a pile of dust.

On most occasions, the bleached vampire would have cracked at that. The crotch being the weak point of these mysterious creatures, giving the same effect as a wooden stake to the heart would be for a vampire. 

But with a frown on his face, singed eyebrows and hair adding to the 'bum'-look, Spike roughly wiped the back of his hands across his eyes as he stared at the two.

One of them was totally unfamiliar, a good-looking Asian guy with ludicrously long sideburns. 

But the other…

Christ, in his old age, he must be losing his sight. But if he wasn't mistaken, that man standing there, a feral snarl upon his face, the shiny pistol clutched in his grips…was Xander Harris.


	4. 4

__

God, how he loved Germany…the long-legged, big titted women. And the beer. Those beer halls…heaven on earth for a guy who kept at least three 6-packs of Molson Canadian in the fridge at all times. 

Normally, standing at the entrance to such a mansion of alcohol, Kalman Ling would have had a big, sloppy grin etched upon his face. But now, standing in the central district of Bonn, Ling instead wore an uneasy gaze. 

There seemed to be a mixed crowd here. Skinheads at one end, and scholarly-types at the other. 

It was with this uneasy scan that Ling nearly missed the huge giant easing towards him, moving with grace that belied a man of his size. He could have easily been seen as the Aryan ideal. Beneath short-cropped platinum blonde hair stood a handsome face that would have done Brad Pitt proud, and a body that would have put Hercules to shame. 

Those bright, blue German eyes held a glint of menace, and with the muscles suddenly tensing up, with the adrenaline suddenly coursing through his veins, Ling slowly began rotating his wrist, a habit he had developed over the years before he fought. 

Like many other testosterone-filled teenagers, Ling had taken his share of Martial Arts. Tae-Kwon Do, Karate, Kung Fu…of course, he had purposely forgotten all of that. Even living a relatively pampered life, there was one thing Kalman Ling had always been good at. And that was bare-knuckled brawls. 

The giant…all 6'5 and 290 pounds of him, slowed to a stop, intent eyes glaring forward. 

"Shit…" Muttered Ling under his breath. He'd gone from his home in Toronto over to Germany for a cross-training program with the infamous GSG-9, Germany's premier Counter-Terrorist organization. He hadn't come to Germany for a brawl. 

It was then that he noticed another man, almost as big as the first, strolling forward, his menacing face tightened in a slight snarl. This one was a skinhead. Not as bulky, but certainly taller, standing at close to 6'8. 

Ling's fingers itched for the trusty old Colt Defender he'd left back at home. There was no way he could win against these two 'freaks'. Not only did they seem strong, but they also seemed fast. 

The skinhead stopped to the right, and just behind his partner, milky white teeth acting as a mirror to those nervous half-Irish eyes. 

"Hey, uh…" Muttered Ling, suddenly cursing himself for his limited German. 

The lips of the first suddenly peeled back. Great, there were two guys viciously snarling at him now. 

But wait. 

It was then that Ling noticed that the blonde giant wasn't snarling. He was grinning. 

"Are you…uh…Herr Ling?" Boomed out a jolly voice in heavily accented English. 

Kalman could merely blink. "Yeah." 

The skinhead suddenly chuckled, twisting gracefully around his stockier companion. 

"Ve are you new…com…comrades? Ja. Comrades. That ees it." Came an equally accented voice with an equally huge grin. 

Kalman blinked again. "Um…" 

"Come!" Boomed the blonde's voice again as he slapped the smaller Canadian in the back, nearly brushing him off his feet. "I em Erik. Dis is Wolfgang. We buy you some beer."   
  
  
  
  
  


With a grimace, Xander Harris once again swallowed a heavy dose of 'industrial'-class painkillers. The throbbing was returning…with the morning sun. Wincing, he eased off the light cotton shirt, letting it drop to the floor as he checked the bandages wrapped around his torso. 

Pointedly, he ignored the incredulous gazes of his old friends. It hurt…to see them. It hurt to be here. Back in Sunnydale. Back in the Magic Box. Back with his demons…both metaphorically and literally. Those fucking demons. The ones who had ruined his life…the ones who had consumed him. 

It didn't matter now. Xander didn't expect to live much longer. He could deal with his demons in hell…or, more preferably, in heaven. 

The Smith & Wesson lay upon the counter beside him, empty of ammunition. Neither soldiers had any more rounds, and his friend's gun had even jammed. 

The shirt lay on the ground, next to his feet. The babyfat around him had never fully vanished, still giving him a boyish look. Harris didn't mind. His opponents always seemed to underestimate him for it. That is, until were on the brink of death. 

The silence in the Magic Box seemed unbearable…but any conversation with the friends…with the family he had hurt so badly would be even worse. Thankfully, Willow - his absolute best friend - Tara, and Dawn had all left for a shopping spree. Of course, Xander was glad that they weren't here to witness the destruction…possibly even get hurt, or worse. But his real reason was much more selfish. It would be hell to face up to them…especially Willow. 

The quiet shuffling of Giles sounded out as the former Librarian, his hair now greyed around the edges, attempted to set everything back in place. Buffy was at the other end, gently sweeping up the shards of glass that scattered around the floor of the shop like furious hurricane. And Spike merely sat in the corner, his flask grumpily held in his hands as he took swig after swig to ease the burning pain inflicted by the bullets. 

Ling had turned heel and burst out the door the moment he had seen that the danger had subsided. Harris would have been fret with worry for his friend, but he knew the ex-RCMP cop, formerly with the ERT - Emergency Response Team, a version of SWAT - could handle the low-life bloodsucking scum of Sunnydale. 

"Bloody…" Came the quiet, muttered curse as the bleached vampire pushed himself from the corner, ambling over towards the bathroom. "Might as well…" 

The entrance to the Magic Box suddenly slammed open, the short red hair of Willow Rosenberg, the young, talented witch, exploded in, followed by her lover, Tara, and the sister of the Slayer, Dawn Summers. Simultaneously, four heads whipped towards the three girls. They looked worse for the wear, blood, grime and tears streaking across the porcelain faces. 

With a growl, Spike spun clumsily on his heels, limping towards the three, as the sounds of objects crashing against the floor echoed, Giles and Buffy racing towards the three. 

Grimacing, Xander shuffled slowly forward, pulling his shirt from the ground. 

A torrent of questions from the Watcher and Slayer assaulted the three…as the soft brown eyes of Willow Rosenberg suddenly caught sight of her long-lost friend, leaning painfully against the counter, the Smith & Wesson lying next to him. 

"X…Xander?" Squeaked out an innocent voice. Harris couldn't resist the small smile that uplifted the corners of his lips. She hadn't changed in the least. 

"Hey Will." 

"Xander…" Repeated Willow, her eyes widened open. "Wh…" 

"What happened?" interjected a frantic Buffy, quickly pushing her younger sister down upon a chair. 

"Just…five guys. W…w…with g…guns," Stuttered the blonde witch, Tara, obviously shaken as her hands slowly wiped a speck of blood from her cheek. 

"Tara…" 

"They came!" Shouted Tara, gulping hysterically as she roughly shook away tears. "They started shooting everyone!" 

Silence reigned in the store as they took this piece of information in. 

"Were they…were they, invincible?" Came Giles' voice as he shakily pushed the drooping glasses up his nose. 

"No," Answered Willow, shaking her head, now totally ignoring Xander. "There was a guy. He shot one of them." 

"A guy? A…a policeman?" Asked the Slayer, roughly wiping blood off of her sister's face. 

"No. Some guy in a leather coat in black pants." 

His eyes widened, Xander ignored the sharp stab of pain as he suddenly lunged forward, sprinting for the door. 

"Kalman you idiot…" Spat the ex-SEAL quietly as he burst out the door. "You fucking idiot."   
  
  
  
  
  
__

It was the thunderous torrent of bullets that finally sent a short, crisp "Fuck!" from Kalman Ling's lips his legs pumped crazily, sending the Canadian cop sprinting to the other end of the food court at the mall with the unpronounceable name. 

Luckily, the Germans occupying the mall had long-since been evacuated before the fanatical 9-man team of neo-Nazi terrorists had exploded onto the scene, intent on a massacre. 

Catching a whiff beforehand, GSG-9 had sent two 3-man teams to apprehend the terrorists. But things weren't going so well. For one, they all seemed to be amazingly well trained. For the other, they all seemed to wield state-of-art weaponry. The huge, bulky OICW rifles were the absolute best you could get. The operated with helmets, which operated in tandem with satellites, providing information on the enemy's location based on the body heat. 

In essence, the neo-Nazi's wielded technology not even provided yet to the American military. 

But then again, technology was no match for guts and determination. Along with a Heckler & Koch MP5PDW. 

The small, compact sub-machine-gun stuttered in his hands as Ling fired one-handed, forcing the Nazi's back down under cover. 

The hammer swiftly began striking thin air, and with a curse, Ling let the sub-gun drop against his strap. 

This battle had been going on for far too long. He had started out five clips in all for the MP5…adding up to 150 rounds. Now he had only 30 more rounds for the sub gun. 

5.56mm bullets chasing him across the empty food court, Ling dove behind the counter restaurant, hunkering down as bullets flew overhead. Cursing in his newly learned language, Kalman rammed his last remaining clip home. 

The 6-man team had quickly been cut into a 3-man team. Hell, for all he knew, it could have been cut down to a one-man team. Erik and Wolfgang could be dead, for all he knew. 

Grimacing, noting the lull in enemy fire, Ling lunged over top the counter, firing the MP5 two-handed, jerking the trigger back rapidly. The sub-gun was now set for single-fire. 

But it wouldn't have mattered, for it was then that a torrent bullets struck the countertop, sparks flying about as the ricocheted off. Some bullets went into the MP5, instantly demolishing it. Others went into Ling.   
  
  
  
  
  


Death. This was what it was like. Some people said that death was peaceful, a light glinting overhead as beautiful little feathers drifted against their skin. Fucking bullshit. He didn't see any lights…he didn't see any feathers. All he saw was the ceiling up ahead. 

Bloodstained fingers held the Heckler & Koch P7M13 loosely in his hands, the handsome Chinese features contorting with agony as he gasped for air. 

The leather jacket lay open, the blue shirt underneath stained with blood from the chest wound. Chest wounds were healable. But somehow, Kalman Ling had a feeling that this one wasn't. 

Those Irish blue eyes hazily scanned the grounds around him. Bodies littered the floor of the Sunnydale mall. Those five bastards had exploded in…just like those nine bastards three years back in Germany. Same rifles, same clothes, same look…and same fucking sponsor. Marcus Jennings had sponsored the massacre three years back…Marcus Jennings had sponsored the massacre three minutes back. Too bad he wouldn't get to kill Marcus Jennings. 

Grunting in pain, gasping noisily as the Grim Reaper seemed to loom up before him, his hand reaching out to finally claim him after all those years, Kalman Ling forced a small, wavering smile upon his face. 

What the hell. Like the Natives said, today was a good day to die.   
  
  
  
  
  


"No…" Muttered Xander Harris as he exploded into the shopping mall, the sounds of sirens wailing in the distance. 

Bodies littered the grounds before him, but the acute eyes easily picked up the body he was looking for. 

"Kalman you fuckhead!" Screamed Harris as he sprinted towards his friend. 

"Xa…Xan…Xand…" Gasped Ling, a delirious little grin upon his face. 

"Oh god…" Muttered Xander, ignoring the moisture welling up in his eyes as he dropped to his knees, applying pressure to the chest wound. 

"See…blue…disk." Gasped the former cop, his face strained with exertion. 

"Shut-up," Spat Xander. "Save your gibberish until after you get outta the hospital." 

"Blue…bl…dis" Insisted Ling, shivering. 

"I said shut up!" Growled Xander as he bit down hard upon his lower lip, ignoring the stream of blood that ran down his chin. 

"Kill…bastards for…" Muttered Kalman, his right hand waggling the P7 in his fingers. "Jennings…here…" 

"Wha…I said shut up man," Murmured Xander softly, almost helplessly as a big, fat goblet of saline streamed down his eyes. "Tell it to me later." 

"Kill…Jen…" The plea died down as the Canadian's face froze in midsentence, the eyes opened wide, hazy with pain, the lips outstretched, the face contorted in exertion. 

"Tell it to me later," Pleaded Xander softly as he applied more pressure to his friend's wound. "You here me!" Yelled Harris suddenly. "You tell it to me fucking later!" 

The yell seemed to echo around the mall as the soldier began shivering, his fingers shakily closing around the P7. 

"You…you tell me…" Sobs racked his body as Harris hammered his fist into the cool, linoleum floor. Tears dripped softly upon Ling's face, streaming down, mixing in with his hair. Slowly, he lowered his face against his friend's shoulders, his strong arms wrapping themselves around the slain warrior's body. "You…fucking…tell…me…" 

And it was there that Xander Harris cried for the first time since his wife was murdered. But now, as a sorrowed, angered scream rang throughout the mall, Harris vowed that Jennings would pay for the death of his blood brother. 

This was the Soldier's Vengeance.


End file.
